Chapter Three

Someone was knocking on Devon's front door, pulling him from a deep slumber. “Go away!” The insistent knocking continued at an indecent level, harder and louder. He ducked his head under his pillow as drool slid down along his cheek.

The knocking ceased, but the door swung open, and footfalls made their way to his bedroom. “I said, go away,” Devon mumbled from under his cotton pillowcase. Damn, whose brilliant idea was it to give the guy a key to his place? Oh, that's right—his.

“No, when we talked yesterday I was under the impression you wanted a change.” Breck's serious voice thundered through the room.

Devon pulled the pillow from his head and hugged it to his chest. “I do, just not today. Today I choose sleep.”

Breck went to Devon's closet and rooted around. When he returned, he threw jeans and a T-shirt on the bed. “Go shower, get dressed, and meet me in the kitchen. I'll have coffee ready.”

Devon didn't move.

Breck ran a hand down his face, and sighed. “Are you even aware that it's two o'clock in the afternoon?”

Devon rolled his head to the side, looking toward the window. “Shit. Really?”

“Yes, so move, or we'll be late.”

“Late?”

“Yes, the festival is this weekend. We missed yesterday, I don't want to miss today.”

“Why?”

“God, you really are wasting your life away, aren't you?” Breck shook his head, anger flaring in his eyes, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging. He left the room abruptly.

Devon played their discussion over and over in his mind, but still couldn't make sense of why Breck would be so upset with him. Pulling his phone off the nightstand, he pulled up his calendar. He hadn't checked it recently, since they were between gigs and their tour had only recently ended.

The date flashed on the screen. He had blocked out Thursday through Sunday for the Spring Performance Art Festival. The notation read, “scout bands”.

“Shit.” That’s right…the plan had been to check out bands to scout an opening act for Sinful Souls’ next tour, which was currently in the planning stages.

Showering and dressing as fast as humanly possible with a nasty hangover, he went to the kitchen, hoping his friend was still there. He entered an empty room, and his heart sank.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, he headed to the coffee maker and was somewhat relieved that coffee had been brewed. That was something.

After drinking two cups and eating half of a stale donut, Devon headed out. He wasn't sure if he'd run into Breck at the festival, but he at least owed the guys the courtesy of doing what he said he'd do in the first place.

The original plan was for them to arrive early enough so they could be up close, but since he was running behind, the all-day event was packed. He ended up off to the side, which was fine since he could at least see and hear the performances. According to the schedule board, the third group was on. It wasn't anything he could get into so he began looking for his friend. What a way to spend a Friday night—alone with the smell of BBQ and kettle corn teasing his nostrils. But he'd be damned if he’d text Breck. If they ran into one another, that was different.

Breck was nowhere in sight. Devon pulled his gaze from the crowd to the act and caught a glimpse of bright, fiery-red hair. He couldn't see who it belonged to, but the style looked exquisitely feminine. Back when he cared enough to discriminate, he didn't go for redheads, he was a straight-up brunette kind of guy. This shade of red, though, was stunning, and had to be fake. He craned his neck trying to see the person who belonged to the red mane, but failed when she was swallowed up by the energetic crowd.

After listening to several more bands, taking notes on a couple of them, he needed a break. Heading to the restrooms, he thought he spotted Breck. He advanced in that direction, but it wasn't his friend after all.

Turning back around, he caught a glimpse of the red hair again. Despite his full bladder, he pushed through the crowd toward her. There was something about that hair; he had to see who it belonged to.

“Excuse me?”

Devon turned and faced three smiling young girls.

“Are you Devon Mann?” One of them was twining her hands in front of her and bouncing on the balls of her feet as she beamed up at him.

He looked at the girls and back to his quarry, and then back to the girls again. He sighed, raked his hand through his hair, and gave them his performance smile. “Yes, that would be me.” He loved his fans, especially the younger ones. If it weren't for them, there would be no Sinful Souls. Their squeals alerted others who became curious and before he knew it, he was taking a lot of selfies with fans and signing autographs, boobs, and whatever else they shoved his way.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally excused himself for the restroom. He took his time and splashed water on his face.

Despite his drinking history, he wasn't crazy about the taste of alcohol, and yet wished he had a beer or two. He shook his head and slowly retreated from the building. No one was waiting for him, so he tucked his ball cap low over his forehead and went back to his original spot.

A few hours later, the sun was setting, the smell of marijuana filled the air, things were getting rowdy with the all-day drinkers, and the nighttime crowd was rolling in. He hadn't seen the redhead again, and this disappointed him more than it should've. He’d had enough, so he left.

As Devon walked out of the main entrance of the park heading for his car, he took in the scene around him, and then he saw her.

The redhead, under a streetlight, was slipping into the backseat of a taxi.

He caught a glimpse of her profile. In those few seconds, his feet stopped moving and his breath stuttered. She was stunning…and leaving. The cab disappeared down the street and was around the corner and out of sight before he could process his reaction.

Once back home, he sent a text message to Breck, “I have notes on a couple of the bands from today, hit me up if you want to talk.”

Instantly, there were dots dancing across his phone indicating Breck was messaging him back.

“On my way.”